Dussel were German born theoretical physicists, both experts in creating and handling bombs. They had spied for the Russians while working in England as well as the United States. The third man on the sofa was Larue Legrand, a French born citizen who stole secret documents from the French military and passed them along to the Russians. He was an expert in penetrating and decoding secret documents and designs. Nikola was their single point of contact. He was the one they turned over secret information to, not caring whether the information harmed an individual, a business, or an entire country.
These three individuals oversaw an espionage ring with cells working throughout the world. They had central posts in Paris, Berlin, Milan, Athens, Brussels, Vienna, and Warsaw. From these cities, their spies received assignments, and then moved quietly to swap identical black bags containing important items or information. They possessed skills to uncover, steal, or forcefully take what they wanted for their own purposes, keeping the heat away from St. Petersburg. They embedded coded texts in ordinary-looking images posted on the Internet and communicated with one another using special software on their laptops. They had bombing specialists working for them, specialists who developed many types of bombs and detonated them remotely to create chaos in train stations and government buildings. The men did not care who was killed and who survived.
Nikola coughed, clearing his throat as he lit the cigar in his hand. He blew thick circles of smoke towards the ceiling. He stood up and started to pace back and forth in front of the three men. Nikola was a stocky man with thick brown hair and dark brown eyes that seemed full of anger and contempt.
“What have you got worth discussing on the International Industrial Research Laboratories?” His voice was husky and cold. He spoke in a no-nonsense tone. “I want to know the history behind this company, and why our first attempt failed so miserably.” He stood in front of the large sofa looking down on the men, grinding his teeth while waiting for an answer. They knew their boss wouldn't accept excuses. The three exchanged nervous glances. Hahn was the first to speak.
“I did a background check on IIRL after the first attempt to steal the designs. I found out that the company has roots that go back to the sixteenth century. The Gaulle family started the business, which changed names three times in the last five hundred years. The name IIRL was established during the nineteenth century, and the only heir to the business is the young Sebastian Gaulle. He’s a brilliant businessman who has established offices and laboratories around the world. He works very closely with his chief advisers at each location, however he is closest to Nathan Shilton, his chief adviser at the London headquarters. A few months ago, he hired Troy Vasser, a young Italian man, as his chief security officer for the entire company. The strange thing is that both Sebastian and Troy attend the University of Brighton while running the business.”
“And, why is that so strange?” he asked.
“Well, they both hold several degrees from distinguished universities around the world. Don’t you think that’s a bit strange?”
Nikola rubbed his chin, a puzzled look on his face. “Indeed, that is something to consider,” he said. “But to come back to the more important issue at hand, why did we fail last time? The documents were of the utmost importance, and the scientists even more so. They were both within our reach, and we lost them. I had promised the prime minister that we were going to deliver, and I failed. Why did we put inexperienced people in charge of such an important assignment?” A twisted scowl appeared on his awkward face.
“Actually, Alexie Miroslav was one of our best agents, but something must have gone terribly wrong. Interpol showed up at the exact moment he picked up the briefcase that contained
Natasha Solomons
Poul Anderson
Joseph Turkot
Eric Chevillard
Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child
Summer Newman
Maisey Yates
Mark Urban
Josh Greenfield
Bentley Little